


It was Bound to Happen Sometime

by firstbreaths



Series: and honestly that's why public service seems to be calling me [3]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Politics, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 18:38:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7279537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstbreaths/pseuds/firstbreaths
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Treasury Secretary Alexander Hamilton and Director of the National Parks Service John Laurens, attend a gala celebrating 100 days of Washington's second term.  [Sequel to Alexander Hamilton: Human Scandal].</p>
            </blockquote>





	It was Bound to Happen Sometime

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to [Alexander Hamilton: Human Scandal](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5960011) // [We're Gonna Talk About Yosemite](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6289783)

It’s only been three days since they’d met, and it’s not like Alex expected finding time to spend with John was going to be easy. 

Well, Alex supposes, the scandal surrounding the two of them had died down less than 24 hours before it began, thanks to the kids and their memes moving on to something more hip — literally, Morris had detached his prosthetic leg during a Senate filibuster and started waving it around to make a point. But more, importantly, they’re both high ranking public servants with important jobs like keeping the country’s economy from crashing and preventing hundreds of endangered species from dying out, so it’s not like they can simply drop all of the briefings they really need to read over breakfast to fuck up against Alex’s apartment door before work.

Which, of course, means that’s exactly what they’re doing. Thank god Eliza had spent the night at Angelica’s, because the last thing Alex wants right now is his roommate (and ex-girlfriend) coming out in search of breakfast. 

Alex drops to his knees in front of John, fumbling with the button of his work pants, as John bucks his hips up, desperate for friction. He finally gets them undone, and starts mouthing at John through the fabric of his boxers, enjoying the challenge of focusing on so many things at once; the feeling of John’s hand in his hair, the breathy noises John is making above him, and —

Somewhere in the pile of discarded jackets puddled on the floor, Alex’s phone starts ringing, with the ringtone he’s reserved for Washington’s private number. 

“I have to get this, I’m _so_ sorry,” Alex says, extricating his phone from his jacket pocket and swiping to connect the call. He glances up apologetically at John, who has a sly smirk on his face that Alex is just about to question, since he has to wait for the recorded White House operator droning on about privacy regulations in relation to the call, when John reaches down into his pants and starts to jerk himself off.

Motherfucker. 

“Mr President,” Alex sputters out, as the call finally goes through. John blushes and immediately pulls his hand out of his pants. He gives Alex a wide-eyed, open-mouthed look of horror that has Alex biting down on the inside of his cheek to keep himself from laughing. “Good morning Sir. What can I do for you?”

“Morning, Hamilton,” Washington says, way too chipper for 7am. “Sorry for calling so early, although you’re usually in the office by this time anyway.”

“I took your advice for once, Sir.”

“I’m the President of the United States, Alex, I give a lot of advice to a lot of people.”

“Don’t work yourself to death,” Alex repeats, almost verbatim, “can’t pass a tax plan or revolutionise public education from the grave, after all —” 

John gives him a look that’s equal parts agreement and concern, even if some of that is lost by the fact that he’s still blushing, so he quickly adds, “not to say that’s the most important issue at stake here.”

“Either way, that makes this call a little more awkward,” Washington replies, “since I was calling to talk to you about your speech for the 100 day gala next week. It’s really important that you —“

What little energy Alex had to continue where he left off with John after this call quickly leaves him as Washington drones on about the importance of public image. 

“So,” Alex says, when he gets off the phone, five minutes later, “Washington was just checking in about the gala next Thursday — I mean, I should probably be offended that he thinks he needs to remind me about the time limit for my speech at this point, because it’s not like he doesn’t get his staff to send me a passive aggressive email about word counts every week. They probably have a folder full of pre-approved stock phrases dedicated to me at this point, but -“

"You should offer to write them, if they don't," John says, patting him on the shoulder. "Although I for one find your lack of brevity kind of endearing -- this way, I know you won’t judge me when I rant about how fucking shit some of the lobbyists I deal with are.”

He rises up on his knees, glancing up at John, who’s buttoning his pants back up and shaking his head with a rueful smile, although when Alex turns his head away, he sees John’s teeth flash in the dim light of the foyer. Alex doesn’t think he has words for what that smile does to him, so he says, “you, ah, wanna come with me? To the gala?”

John reaches a hand out and pulls him to his feet. “I’m already invited, you idiot,” he says affectionately, not letting go as Alex rights himself and starts hastily trying to flatten his hair. “I do have a kind of important job, y’know, and if I’m going to spend my career battling to preserve the environment, there ought’a be some perks.”

Alex checks his watch and gives up on fixing his hair into something presentable; they really need to get going, and if there’s one thing he can rely on Peggy for, it’s working wonders with his appearance. (He _really_ needs to ask her where she gets her concealer from.) 

“Perks like lukewarm yoghurt from the vending machine for the third day in a row since I decided this was more important than breakfast, and I have so much fucking paperwork to do,” he says, waving a hand vaguely in front of them to indicate exactly what he means by _this._ Then, he grabs his messenger bag from the hall stand, tosses John his phone and wallet which are sitting beside it, and almost trips over trying to quickly pull the door shut behind them.

“Alex, I’ve known you three days, and I can tell you prioritise everything over breakfast,” John retorts. “If someone gave you an egg, you’d probably shout about agricultural policy for fifteen minutes and then crack it over Jefferson’s head.”

“Can I —“

“For what it’s worth, I’m going to have to resort to vending machine coffee as a result of _this_ ,” John cuts him off, as the elevator dings, “and I don’t even mind. Mostly.”

In that moment, the depths of his stupid crush on John Laurens sink deep into Alex’s admittedly grumbling stomach, and he has no idea what to do with the way it radiates out through his bones like the slowly rising sun as they step out of the elevator and onto to the sidewalk in front of Alex’s apartment, so he settles for pushing John up against the side of his car and kissing him until they’re both flustered.

“Also, are we gonna talk ‘bout the fact that I tried to jerk off in front of you while you were on the phone to the President?” John asks, once they’re finally in the car, seatbelts on, “because that’s fucked. On so many levels.”

Alex just slams his head on the steering wheel in response and groans. 

*

 **John (07:51):** i just realised i never gave you an answer

 **John (07:51):** but i suppose i could deign to be seen in your presence at this gala 

 **John (07:51):** a good southern boy never turns down an opportunity to dance 

*

 **Alex (07:59):** laf can you teach me how to dance?

 **Alex (08:00):** actually, first of all, do you know HOW to dance? and secondly, if you do, can you teach me? i need to master the classics by next thurs. 

*

As the week drags on, Alex can’t stop smiling. He’s still drowning in work — the emails and reports and requests for advice never end and really, he’s doing the public a favour by arguing in public with Madison, because his stance on their tax plan is _bullshit_ \- but every so often, he'll hear his phone ding with a text from John, bitching about the NPS and the amount of horse shit (both literal and figurative) he's currently dealing with, and -- 

He's in way deeper than any of the oceans John is working so hard to protect.

On Friday, he has a meeting with Angelica and Alex can hear her talking to Peggy out in the foyer, as he finalises an email to for Tilghman to forward to Pickering, the minority whip, with final instructions for Monday’s vote on the tax plan. He would just send it himself, but last time he’d suggested that, Washington had sighed and given him a pointed reminder about the separation of powers, like he hadn’t graduated summa cum laude from Columbia law _while_ interning with Washington’s Senate office.

“— he’s been smiling a lot, that’s all I know,” he hears Peggy say, and Alex groans. He can’t imagine his life without the Schuyler sisters, but he could do without their incessant gossiping. 

“Great,” Angelica says in response, “that could mean anything from he just roasted Jefferson on Twitter through to ‘everything’s gone to shit and he’s grinning maniacally while pretending he’s not dead on the inside’.” There’s a pause. “I’m not sure which of those is more terrifying, to be honest.”

“There’s no need to be scared, Angie,” he calls out, shutting the lid of his laptop. “Besides, Jefferson doesn’t _need_ roasting — Lafayette says Franklin and Adams are back from the energy summit in France, which means all three of them are probably off somewhere getting baked right now.”

He and John haven’t exactly discussed not telling anyone about their _thing,_ but given how much he lives in the spotlight, he likes having something just to himself, something that he doesn’t has to justify or defend in less than 140-characters (multiplied by however many tweets he can get in between briefing for meetings about the impact of the Chinese economic slowdown). He justifies it to himself, anyway, with how much he likes John outside of the context of their hurried attempts at sexual intimacy in the doorway, from their similar stances on everything from the appalling financial education in American high schools, to preferred pizza toppings and how much they both fucking hate Congress, to the way John’s coffee consumption levels match his own.

Besides, he’d dated Eliza all through law school, whilst she was getting her teaching degree, and then he’d promptly gone and fucked it up by sleeping with Maria Reynolds, who’d been an intern in the Office of Legislative Council when he was working in Washington’s Senate office. Eliza had deleted every poetic post he ever wrote on her Facebook wall, and thrown his iPhone in the toilet for good measure, and even though they’ve both moved past that, he’s content to tread water with John right now, for fear of diving in and fucking it all up again. 

“You do realise you just accused the Vice President and the Secretary of State of drug use on federal property, right?” Angelica says, but she’s smiling as she enters his office, extending her arms for a hug. 

“And Franklin?” Alex asks, when he finally pulls away. 

“Drug use is probably the least offensive thing he’s been accused of, I’m not so worried if that leaks.” 

They both laugh at that, and Alex is reminded of why he likes her so much. 

“We need to talk about the gala next week,” Angelica says finally. “Frankly, the President knows you’re not going to listen to any of us when we ask you to keep it brief.”

“Funny that,” Alex says, a little bitterly, remembering his interrupted morning with John, “if he spent a little less time fussing about the length of my paragraphs, he’d probably have more time to spend reading their contents and coming to a conclusion.”

The minute he says it, he _almost_ wishes he could take it back — he would go to the end of the earth for Washington, if the man asked him, but sometimes he thinks the United Nations was less of a organisational clusterfuck than the United States government, and he’s all but ushered through a revolutionary new tax plan whilst Washington changes his mind weekly about their tactics. 

Angelica gives a curt shake of her head, but she doesn’t contradict him. “The exciting news is, on the back of the 100 day gala and the tax plan going through, we’re hoping to finally announce our plans for healthcare. Van Ness thinks we can capitalise on public goodwill following the event, so we need you to deliver the speech of your life out there. And preferably avoid offending any lobby groups.”

“We wouldn’t be in politics if we weren’t going to offend those scumbags.”

"The trick is to offend them without making it obvious you're doing just that."

"Have I ever told you how much I love you?" Alex replies, curling his fist and holding it out for a bump, which she returns with a bemused smile. As always, Alex is reminded that they make a formidable team; he'll never tell her this, but if Alex wasn't so wedded to the Washington administration, he'd declare her President in a heartbeat. (He ignores the fact that he has no such power -- and that if he did, he'd probably want a go at being President first.)

"That means _not_ jeopardising our plan by picking fights with Jefferson, just as an FYI," Angelica says. "He's signed up to do press following the gala, since he just has to smile and most of the press gallery falls at his feet." She frowns. "They don't do that for me, and I've never quite figured out if it's sexism, racism, or purely the fact that journalists have no souls.”

"Probably a mix of all three," Alex says, thinking back to the first administration, and how many people had been clearly wary in Washington's presence, no matter how much he smiled at them; how many people had judged Angelica's appointment even when he she pointed to her Masters degree from NYU and her track record at DC's biggest PR firm; how often he and Jefferson had been forced to smile for photographs, and then been discussed as nothing more than racial statistics in the corresponding articles. He tries not to dwell on it too much; this is one of those incidences where actions _do_ speak louder than words, even if he regularly calls out assholes for their behaviour on Twitter.

"It's Jefferson," he adds, eventually, “they’re probably trying to get an invite to one of those infamous wine and cheese parties. Even Lafayette approves of the selection, and he's even more of a French bastard than Jefferson is."

"Did you know Lafayette and Jefferson hooked up once?" Angelica asks. 

"What?" Alex can feel the rush of gravity as his jaw drops. "I know you're the Press Secretary and it's your job to know these things, but --" 

Alex is going to have strong words with Lafayette when he sees him next. If he can ever get over his disgust long enough to broach the subject with him at all. He might need a lot of Jefferson's good French wine. Or something a _lot_ stronger. 

“I can’t believe Lafayette didn’t tell me,” Alex says, sucking in a deep breath and hoping that he doesn’t sound hurt. He’d told Lafayette about John the turtle rescuer and his cute freckles, after all, even though, at that point in time, there’d been no chance of him and John being a _thing_.

Oh god, what if — 

“I didn’t find out from Lafayette,” Angelica says, thankfully ending that particular train of thought. “But given that you look like you’re about to throw up, I can assure you that it was a one time thing.”

“Right,” Alex says, slowly parsing this information. Discussion about any of the ridiculous number of agenda items Angelica has can wait. “But wait — does this mean that you found out from Jefferson?” He clutches the edge of his desk. “I know you guys actually get along, despite all the signs pointing to him being an unrequited jackass, but why would he tell you that?”

“Let’s just say that getting baked with Jefferson is both entertaining and informative.”

And okay, Alex has never really understood Angelica’s friendship with Jefferson, even though he understands its importance — she’s in PR, it’s an advantage to know everyone in the business of politics — but this is —

A miracle. 

(Also, he’ll never admit it, but the smirk on her face almost exactly matches the one he wears when people remember that he and Madison were both on the student council at law school and he gets to spill on everything sickly Jemmy Madison ever said in Constitutional Law.)

“I’ll do anything for you if you tell me everything you know,” Alex says, thinking quickly. Jefferson’s return from France means that next Monday’s cabinet meeting is inevitably going to be all about the EU, and Alex is going to need a brutal shutdown or some good blackmail material to get out of Jefferson’s ranting about the Common Agricultural Policy (He’s already relied too often on that time that Jefferson got caught with rice in his pockets coming back through La Guardia.) “I promise I won’t tell the public that the Secretary of Staff got high, I just need to distract him long enough that Washington can listen to my ideas instead of his.”

“All I want you to do is go a week without causing a press scandal,” Angelica replies, “and come to Daddy’s for dinner next Sunday, so he can deliver his latest rant about the New York Stock Exchange to someone who cares.“

“Actually, all indicators suggest that the exchange is having it’s best —“

“Jefferson got _so_ high he was almost convinced to set fire to that hideous velvet jacket.”

“I’m in.”

Angelica just smirks, and then turns the subject of conversation back to health policy in the way only a _PR major_ can. Alex hates how much he appreciates her talent. 

“Also," Angelica says, just as the meeting is wrapping up, "you definitely asquieced to my demands _way_ too quickly. Now I'm definitely going to figure out why you're so happy. I know it’s not just about the revelation that Thomas and I both smoked weed.”

Alex would protest, but his phone dings with a text that he can see from his lock screen is from John, and it starts, _have I ever told you how much I hate Amy Schumer? Read this and weep._ A second later, it dings again with what must be the link to the relevant article. 

He works hard to school his face into something neutral before Angelica can pick up on it, but he must fail miserably, because after a long moment, her mouth twists up into a smirk. "Whoever that is, just don't get caught texting them pictures of your dick. We’ve already done one media clean up this week, I don't have time to clean up after _that._ ” 

"Love you too," Alex calls, barely waiting for her to walk out the door before he picks up his phone. 

*****

The Washington Post: Washington Administration Passes New Tax Plan

The Washington administration's highly controversial tax plan has passed Congress today, with a slim margin of 51-49 in the Senate. The changes are wide-ranging, and include tax-breaks for those in the lowest income brackets, fewer tax deductions for investment property owners, and new taxes on alcohol and cigarettes. This is a significant victory for the government, who vowed to pass this plan within the first 100 days of the President's term, but it remains to be seen how continued opposition to the plan may affect his approval ratings. Treasury Secretary Alexander Hamilton was unusually tight-lipped about today's victory, saying that "this plan is a victory for our economy and our society. I look forward to seeing millions of American workers benefiting from this administration's willingness to tackle inequality in our society." 

*****

**@adotham:** [party hat emoji] [party hat emoji] [party hat emoji]

 **@adotham:** now for some real economic analysis, this administration's tax plan will improve incomes for the lowest 20% of households and (1/12)

 **@ThomasJefferson:** so not only has @adotham taxed our whiskey but he dares to celebrate his plan?

 **@ThomasJefferson:** whilst the cabinet was united on the need to take tough measures, it is unbecoming to publicly celebrate the pain this will cause american families

 **@JMadison:** @ThomasJefferson @adotham someone should ID this guy, see what else he’s hiding 

*

Alex is just about to drive home that evening, when his phone rings, and he puts his car back into park to take John’s call, leaning his head against the window. 

“You’re gonna fucking hate me for this, but Jefferson inspired me,” John starts off, and Alex makes a visceral grunt down the phone line, causing John to laugh on the other end. 

“Calm down, honey,” and Alex ignores how his stomach flips at the casual nickname, “I just meant that we should celebrate. Unless you had plans? I mean, the most important piece of legislation I’ve ever passed was to protect honey bees, so I don’t really know how this stuff works, Kitty and I just went for a drink at some sketchy bar downtown and I almost punched a guy who defended the defunding of Planned Parenthood.”

“Almost?” 

“Had to tie my hair up so I could see him before I could take a clean swing, and he got away.” He can clearly picture John’s bashful shrug as he adds, “I think having to interact with a gay dude with a ponytail was enough of an insult to him anyway.”

“Now that I think about it, I definitely do not have plans,” he says, because really — he would have just been reheating the leftovers Eliza’s saved him and working on an article about the latest round of WTO negotiations, but suddenly all he wants do is ravish John. Plus, one of the things he’s come to love most about John, over the whole eight days they’ve been doing whatever this is? They’re both such fucking irrational hotheads that there’s no point either one of them even pretending to play it cool. 

“I’ll text you my address - can you be at mine in twenty minutes?” John asks. “I’ll put on a party hat.”

“I think I can manage that,” Alex says, his mouth going dry. 

it's a miracle that he doesn’t get a speeding fine. 

*

After that, the gala arrives quickly, with Alex buried in his office right up until the event working his way through paperwork. 

On the night of the gala, Alex waits in the entrance hall for John, whilst Eliza heads inside to find Angelica. Being the sister of the Press Secretary — and the daughter of the New York Governor — has its perks, including access to state-sponsored wine and canapés, and the chance to argue with crusty old Congressmen who went to Harvard and Yale about the lack of funding for textbooks in public schools. When he finally clamours out of the cab, Alex suddenly realises how hard keeping this a secret from everyone else is going to be, because John —

Looks fucking incredible in a tux. His shoes are shiny and his hair in a neat bun, his thighs are perfectly defined in his dress pants, and Alex wants to do nothing more than kiss John’s lopsided grin off his face. 

Somehow, however, he manages to refrain, settling for letting their elbows knock together as they enter the gala and head straight for the bar. If they both seem a little on edge, everyone is too busy taking advantage of the bar tab to notice. 

Having made small talk with pretty much every Senator whose votes Alex could need in the future, he’s lining up with John to grab another beer, when Washington approaches them, towering above everyone else in the crowd. He’s like Moses parting the Red Sea, except Alex likes to keep religious metaphors as far away from the government as possible — not least because last time he protested the Tea Party’s stance on marriage equality, he had his Twitter account suspended for a week. 

“Mr President, this is —“ shit, how should he introduce the guy who just last week he dragged into a public scandal, embarrassing the President, and then pretty thoroughly ravished on the couch in his office — “John Laurens, Director of the National Parks Service. Since last week’s incident, we’ve been working productively on ensuring appropriate funding arrangements for the NPS.”

Washington extends a hand, which John shakes, still looking a little panicked, although he cracks a small smile when Alex puts a supportive hand on his shoulder. After Lafayette’s earlier greeting to Washington, which had attracted the attention of half the room, the gesture appears positively familial in comparison, to anyone watching. 

“Well, I’m sure our national parks are in safe hands, then,” he says. “I assume Hamilton hasn’t told you of his own experiences with nature, though.”

“Sir!” Alex gapes. “You wouldn’t.”

“I wouldn’t,” the President agrees, with a sly grin. “I’m sure Alex can tell you the story of how he fell in the mud during a campaign retreat at Mount Vernon in his own time.”

“That was Lafayette’s fault. Sir.” So maybe he could have saved his thoughts on their campaign finance model for after their obligatory “team-building” trek through the cotton fields of Washington’s farm, but there was no need for Lafayette to trip him over during a crucial point on the need to maximise their revenue from agricultural lobbyists.

Speaking of Lafayette, he comes over to join their group, giving Alex a playful jab with his elbow as he crowds in close. The force causes Alex to bump into John who, upon second glance, appears equal parts amused, terrified, and really fucking confused. Catching Alex’s eye, John shrugs his shoulders and grins, and Alex knows: John Laurens would have absolutely no hesitation about pushing him into a large body of water if the situation arose. 

“John, this is —“ he starts, once he’s sure John’s got the message. (The way John jostles their elbows together assures him that he has.)

“Lafayette is fine, thank you.”

“I wasn’t even going to use your full name. Hell, I barely remember your full name.”

“I believe you remembered my full name when you falsely accused me of tripping you into the mud, Alexander,” Lafayette says, smirking. Admittedly, a very sodden Alex had done a _lot_ of cursing every single one of the patron saints Lafayette is named for. “You should come to France some time, I’m sure a leisurely stroll through our vineyards would allow you to safely experience nature.”

“Fuck you,” Alex says, and then, “sorry Sir,” even though Washington has heard (and said) much worse. 

“Someone’s thorny tonight,” John chimes in, and Alex gives him a glare that would make Lafayette’s fucking French vines wither. 

“We’re going to get along just fine.”

Washington, whose been watching this exchange silently, is clearly trying to suppress his laughter as he excuses himself to talk to the Senate Majority leader, which is a sign that Alex is well and truly _fucked._

*

_Ladies, Gentlemen, Distinguished Guests which, lets face it, is everyone in this room except Callender. Who, by the way — I love your weekly segment dedicated to lambasting me on The Political Pamphlet, and I admire your ability to use Photoshop. Your portrait of myself and the President as Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn was particularly inspired, if inaccurate. I can assure you that not only will I not cast the President aside for my own political gain, but also that beheading is a particularly nasty way to do so. My own reputation is evidence of the fact that the pen is mightier than the sword, both for highlighting the fallacies of the Republican Party’s stance on just about everything, and for keeping a social media intern at the Treasury Department in a job monitoring my blog posts._

_Which brings me to the point of this speech. As you know, today marks the 100th day of George Washington’s second administration, and I’ve been asked to speak about how the Washington Administration is seeking to bring long-lasting positive change to our nation. And the way we do that is by continually speaking our minds, by calling out idiotic policy proposals when we see them, and by continually championing causes that will contribute to the long-term betterment of America._

_I’ve seen your internet memes about how I write like I’m running out of time, and the thing is: I am. As the Treasury Secretary during Washington’s second term: we only have one shot to get this right._

*

After his speech, Alex glances around the crowd, hoping to gauge their reaction. Most of the executive branch is too busy with their meals, which Alex gets -- the thrill of actually having a night off, even if he knows they've probably all been checking their emails under the table -- and Madison looks vaguely horrified, his default facial expression, but Angie and Eliza are both smiling, and John catches his eye and gives him a hugely exaggerated thumbs up that warms Alex’s battle-hardened heart. 

Once dessert has been served, the speeches finished, Alex mills around the bar for a while, making small talk with various dignitaries, and pretending as though he’s thoroughly engaged in whatever the hell’s happening in Georgia — he _is,_ he swears, or at least he would be if he even knew who this Button guy is. Eventually, he can’t take it any more, so he excuses himself to the bathroom, where John is drying his hands at the sink. There’s no one else in the bathroom. 

“Who are you hiding out from?” he asks, with a wink. 

“Pretty much every politician who’s ever met my father,” John says, and then, as if sensing that Alex is going to ask a follow up question, adds, “I don’t want to talk about it right now. Can we just focus on your speech?”

“Sure,” Alex replies. He’s never really followed Henry Laurens’ life or career with any kind of real interest — former Republican Senate Majority Leader from South Carolina, retired, somehow fathered the Republican anti-Christ in John Laurens, who tweets about racial politics and cares about the environment and has repeatedly had sex with Alexander Hamilton, rumoured illegitimate love child of the Democratic President. 

“Your speech was… something,” John says, after a moment’s silence, twisting a strand of hair around his finger. “Witty, poignant, if occasionally a _little_ self-aggrandising.  How did I get so lucky?”

“And you haven’t even heard my draft for next week’s speech to the banking lobby,” Alex quips, but his knees are shaking, so he moves over to lean against the sink. John moves to stand next to him, wrapping an arm around his waist and burying his fingers in the pocket of Alex’s suit jacket. At this angle, with John’s his legs stretched out further in front of them as he relies on the basin to support him, they’re roughly the same height, and Alex decides to take advantage of it, tipping his head to the side to plant a quick kiss to John’s cheek. 

This is — 

"This is a really dumb idea," John says, but he’s already shifted his weight leaning over Alex and planting sloppy, uncoordinated kisses to Alex's jaw. "Just, y'know, for the record. Let the record note that I thought this was a dumb idea."

"There is no record, Laurens," Alex replies. "Or, if there is, Washington will probably make me write it. And edit it."

"Right," John says, and then he reaches out and cups Alex's jaw, fingertips pressing hard into the spot where his mouth had been, just moments before, and drags their mouths together. 

Making out with John is even more of a revelation than it was the first time. Or the second. Or the third. Alex arches his back, pressed up against the basin, and gives into the kiss. The only way Alex knows how to let go is completely, so he does, soaking in John’s hands, strong against his jaw, the insistency of John’s lips against his own. Alex just gave the speech of his life, back there, and yet he doesn’t have a metaphor for this. 

He does have a few well-chosen words, however, when he pulls back from the kiss to catch his breath, tipping his head down to plant a kiss to the crease of John’s neck, exposed from where Alex had been clutching at his tuxedo jacket, and sees Madison, staring at them. 

“You really should have thought about this,” he says, holding up his cell phone, “before you decided to —“

“Fuck.”

*

**CNN: Breaking News**

A scandal has emerged following the Washington Administration’s 100 Day Gala tonight, with Treasury Secretary Alexander Hamilton and Director of the National Parks Service, John Laurens, caught on camera kissing in a bathroom at the venue. 

They follow an incident last week, in which the White House had to deny claims that Laurens and Hamilton were engaged in trading sexual favours for budgetary concessions.  The images, which came from an anonymous source, have the potential to generate enormous controversy for the Washington government, following a bump in a approval ratings after the passage of its tax plan on Monday.

Hamilton is no stranger to scandal, often drawing attention for his vociferous Twitter commentary on a wide range of social and economic issues. Until recently, however, Laurens, the son of former South Carolina senator Henry Laurens, has largely avoided controversy. 

The White House has been contacted for comment. 

*

 **Buzzfeed:** 10 Reasons Alex Hamilton and John Laurens are set to be America’s Next Power Couple

As if a hot make-out session right under President Washington’s nose wasn’t enough to prove that these two men are going to be ruffling some serious feathers both in and out of politics, here’s 10 more reasons why this couple is going to blow up faster than John Adams’ temper. 

1\. They have the same shared interests, like sports

[washingtoncampaign-capitalsselfie.jpg]

[laurens-shirtlessgymselfie.jpg]

2\. … and the environment

[hamilton-climatechangerant-twitter(15/49).jpg]

[laurens-rangerIDcard.jpg]

… 

10\. One time they punched (threw wine at) Charles Lee’s face and it was awesome!

[screencap-foxnews-winegatereport.jpg]

*****

**@thomasjefferson:** @nbcnews Hamilton can kiss whoever he wants, at least we might actually get some silence around here for a change. 

 **@Jmadison:** RT @callender look out for this week’s podcast titled “bi bi alexander hamilton: the truth about hamilton’s growing reputation for scandal 

 **@chucklee:** White House Press Sec @angieschuyler denied there was any impropriety between @adotham and @johnlaurens and YET

 **@chucklee:** the best thing Washington can do for this country is to go back to planting tobacco at Mt Vernon

 **@adotham:** @chucklee let me tell you a little something about how much tobacco damages the American economy due to healthcare costs 

*****

**Angie (22:32):** you owe me, so you’re definitely coming over for dinner this sunday to listen to my dad’s latest rant

 **Alex (22:32):** wait... you're not mad? or at least not as mad as you deserve to be?

 **Angie (22:32):** already got three emails with requests for quotes on stories about our LBGT agenda and I won't have to answer questions about what I wore tomorrow, since they'll all be asking what you *weren't* wearing 

 **Angie (22:33):** and I won a bet with laf on how long it would take to own up to dating Laurens

*  
**Angie (22:44):** just got pulled aside to talk “strategy" with POTUS about how to handle this. now i’m mad [middle finger emoji]

*

After all of the drama, it’s fruitless to act like there isn't anything happening between them, so Alex makes his way through the last of his “required” conversations with influential people, assuring all of them that no, his sex life does not have any influence on his ability to do complex economic thinking. He’s just finished making his way through the talking points on healthcare that Angie gave him, when John comes over and interrupts, explaining to the crowd, “Hamilton, the President wants to see us.”

Alex’s heart leaps into his throat, but as they step away John whispers, “actually, I believe I owe you a dance. I figured the thought of Washington disciplining us would keep them happy for a while.” 

The blush that’s tainted his cheeks ever since they emerged from the bathroom to face a crowd of public servants and diplomats all checking their phones for the latest Twitter updates is slowly subsiding, and Alex takes a second to admire how cute John is, with his deep brown eyes and the smattering of freckles along his hairline and down the bridge of his nose. 

They step into the middle of the dancefloor, thankfully attracting little attention due to the crowd that’s formed around Angelica and — of all people — Aaron Burr, who are in the middle of a dance-off. 

As they sway, John’s head resting on his shoulder, Alex realises that he’s not entirely sure what to say. 

“So, uh,” he says helpfully, cursing inwardly at himself for not knowing how to deal with this. Becoming the youngest Treasury Secretary in US history hasn’t been possible without a well-publicised series of fuckups, to the point where _seppuku_ might as well just be a type of sushi, but self-sacrifice is less pleasant when it involves giving up something like John, who’s currently frowning at Alex, his brow furrowed. 

“We’re going to wake up tomorrow in a world where Buzzfeed accurately predicted our relationship a week ago, so this isn’t the most embarrassing part of this whole saga.”

“Right.” Alex runs a hand through his hair. “Still. Fuck.”

“This seems like the kind of thing you discuss before you cause a national media scandal, right?” John says, raising an eyebrow at Alex. “Y’know, like functional adults — not that I’ve ever been much good at that.”

“Me either,” Alex admits, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Because Twitter fights and embarrassing Youtube videos and every other vaguely scandalous thing he’s done in his years in the public spotlight aside, Alex spends _a lot_ of time trying to convince everyone he knows that he has his shit together. Because, as it turns out, trying to bring hope and opportunity to a country requires a lot of begging for scraps for power whilst pretending that you’re above doing just that, even when you're really not. 

Thank god for his distinguished record in public service and his PhD in economics, because no one would ever hire him otherwise. 

“In that case, what are we going to do about this?” John asks. “I mean, I like you _a lot_ and I wouldn’t be opposed to this becoming a thing, if you’re in?”  
  
“I’m in,” Alex says, taking a deep breath. “As a lawyer, I know that committing to a vague ‘thing’ is probably a terrible idea that could land me in a lot of hot water, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. As the evidence probably already suggests.”

He holds up his iPhone, so John can see the dozens of Twitter mentions which have filled the screen, alongside a text from Eliza, which just says _if I had a dollar for every person who’s dismissed me, at least I could afford a textbook to knock them over the head with._

“We’re public servants,” John replies, “Every good plan we’ve ever had has started off as a vague ‘thing’.” He pauses. “But let’s, ah, stop calling this a ‘thing’, just to be on the safe side. I’d hate for my boyfriend to end up in another legal quagmire requiring the services of Aaron Burr.”

“My boyfriend,” Alex repeats, liking the way it rolls off his tongue. "Well. As a speech writer, I like the semantics of that.” 

“Also," John says, drawing the word out, "this is probably a good time to mention that Washington called me last week."

"Washington called _you_?" Alex asks, and then, "that's President Washington to — well, all of us, actually." 

“Noted." 

" _Please_ tell me he had a sudden revelation regarding national parks. Martha tells me they were both really into hiking before he became a Senator and lost all of his free time to begging people for money.”

“You’re still bitter about Lafayette pushing you into the mud, aren’t you?” John smirks at all, his mouth stretched wide to the smooth edges of his face, and Alex just laughs and takes a step closer to John, entangling his fingers with his boyfriend’s. His _boyfriend’s._

“I’ll never admit it to Lafayette, but _so_ bitter.”

“Anyway, President Washington implicitly endorsed our relationship, so, y’know, I’d hate to disappoint the Leader of the Free World.”

Alex groans. “I’m enough of a disappointment for the both of us,” he says, but he wraps his arms tighter around John, hoping it conveys the something of the fact that, despite the crazy rollercoaster ride that this relationship has been, right from the start, he’s looking forward to the thrill that comes with sharing in the drama with someone else. Besides, given that he’ll have to spend all day tomorrow sending apology emails whilst preventing global economic meltdown, it can only go uphill from here. 

*

 **To:** a.hamilton@treasury.gov

 **From:** lafayette@diplomatie.gouv.fr

Dear Mr Hamilton,

I’m forwarding you a copy of the statistics you asked for last week, referring to French-American trade over the last quarter. As you can see, there has been a pleasing level of growth in trade between the two countries.

If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to contact me.

Lafayette

PS: I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were dating hot turtle boy!!

*

 **To:** lafayette@diplomatie.gouv.fr

 **From:** a.hamilton@treasury.gov

Dear Lafayette,

Thanks for your email. I will be presenting highlights of the United States’ trade with various EU countries, including France, at an upcoming Departmental meeting and will keep you in the loop. Peggy will also be in touch with Gimat to organise a meeting to discuss an ongoing plan, particularly as we seek to encourage greater educational and tourism exchanges between our two nations.

Yours,

Alexander Hamilton

PS. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you slept with Thomas Jefferson, you traitor!!! (Also, I want all the details so that I can mock his o’face in Cabinet meetings for the rest of my life.)

*

 **To:** a.hamilton@treasury.gov

 **From:** lafayette@diplomatie.gouv.fr

Can you go one day without causing a scandal? Do I need to remind you how inappropriate use of your government email started the entire saga with hot turtle boy in the first place?

Also, check your text messages. 

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the West Wing - even though Josh and Donna would never let their relationship embarrass the President. 
> 
> As always, feel free to chat to me about this verse on tumblr - @firstbreaths!


End file.
